POEM - Hard Rainbows

In lands where silence speaks in storms,

And sunlight hides from shape and form,

There rise the arcs that pain has known—

The spectral curves of flesh and bone.

They are not made of drops and light,

But forged in grief, through darkest night.

A prism cut by time and strain,

These are the hues of hard-earned rain.

No child points skyward in delight

To chase these bows in morning light.

They grow in chambers locked and dim,

Where chances break and edges brim.

Where mothers bend with quiet ache,

And fathers lie with hearts opaque,

Where voices falter into stone—

There, rainbows grow, but not alone.

Each color bears a tale endured:

The red of battles never cured.

The orange of courage kept in jars,

Opened when hope seemed lost to stars.

The yellow pain of waiting years

That dried the marrow into fears.

The green of envy left unsaid,

Or dreams decayed and left for dead.

The blue of silence echoing wide

Across the gulf no tears could hide.

The indigo of vows once sworn,

Now wrapped in frost and barely worn.

And violet—regret's last sting—

The end of nearly everything.

These aren’t the rainbows sung in song,

But those that say, “You still belong.”

They don’t emerge from cheerful skies,

But from the grit behind the eyes.

They come when everything is wrong,

Yet hearts still choose to carry on.

They arc above the fields of loss,

A monument to what things cost.

There is a beauty, sharp and bare,

To rainbows pulled from deep despair.

Not crafted swift by spring’s first kiss,

But drawn from sorrow’s vast abyss.

You’ll see them not in fields of gold,

But where the stories go untold.

Where trembling hands have stitched the seams

Of broken faith and fractured dreams.

The artist who has lost their muse,

But paints with tones that still refuse.

The builder worn by daily strain,

Still raising homes in spite of pain.

The widow laying bricks anew,

While wrapping sky in shades of blue.

The father forging lullabies

From rusted stars and tearless skies.

The migrant walking miles unknown,

With every step a sacred stone.

The teacher in the war-torn town,

Still lighting minds as bombs rain down.

The leader cast in tarnished grace,

Still holding mirrors to their face.

The orphan who, without a guide,

Learns how to stand and not to hide.

These rainbows do not flee the night,

But make their arcs within the fight.

They span across the wounds unhealed,

The quiet wars, the truths concealed.

Each curve a choice, not just a gift—

To rise, to mend, to somehow lift.

Not beauty free of cracks or flaws,

But strength that bears its own applause.

The colors here are raw and bold—

A language written deep in soul.

They speak not just of ends survived,

But how the broken still arrive.

Not polished symbols made for cheer,

But testaments of staying here.

Of holding on though hearts may bend,

Of walking through when there's no end.

So when you see a rainbow there,

Above the smog, beyond despair—

Don’t ask what rain or sun has done,

But what that soul has overcome.

Not all that bends above the ground

Is born from light or joyful sound.

Some rainbows rise from inner war,

From pain that shaped what’s gone before.

And if you bear one, worn yet bright,

A curve carved deep into your night—

Know this: you're not some painted dome,

But proof that storms can still build home.

For hard rainbows, though few may see,

Are symbols of what strength can be.

They shine not just with colors bold,

But with the courage still untold.

Short Summary:

“Hard Rainbows” is a professional, contemplative poem exploring the metaphor of rainbows not as symbols of joy and beauty, but as emblems of resilience, trauma, and endurance. Unlike the natural rainbow that appears after gentle rain and sunlight, “hard rainbows” are forged in emotional storms—grief, loss, pain, and perseverance. Each color represents a form of struggle or memory, and the poem highlights various individuals—from parents and artists to migrants and teachers—who carry these rainbows as a mark of survival. It reframes beauty as something born of challenge, suggesting that true strength shines through suffering, making “hard rainbows” a testament to the human spirit.